My Return to Mecca (Or: The Gilded Iguana, Round Dos)

Bright and early the next morning, Tio Pedro, Adam and I headed out on our road trip to Nosara. Adam and Tio Pedro hit it off immediately. I think the instant connection that formed between the two of them was due to the fact that they were both quiet guys who had somehow found themselves in the horrifying predicament of having to listen to me talk for a straight six hours, without any possible escape plan save jumping out of a moving vehicle. I imagine this is something like the unspeakable bond that exists between prisoners of war who have been detained together in underground caves and tortured mercilessly for years at the hands of the enemy, before finally being rescued and returned to their native country, physically restored to their old selves, but never quite the same again. Tio Pedro and Adam are now war buddies.

Adam and I had a pretty good idea about how to drive to Nosara from San Jose, but once again Tio Pedro enforced the GPS-utilization rule, despite my extreme aversion to the sound of its voice. As we drove further out of San Jose, we discovered something quite interesting. Each time we’d enter a new town or drive over a historic bridge or past some sort of important landmark, the GPS would dole out unsolicited information about our surroundings. She would start by saying, “You might have noticed that we’re now driving over a bridge.” The first time this happened, we were all taken aback, but then we began to welcome it as comic relief. “Yes, we had noticed, as a matter of fact!” one of us would exclaim. “This bridge was constructed…” she’d go on. At one point during the ride, after nearly being swept off of the narrow, curvy, mountainside road and sent to our maker by one of the hundreds of gigantic trucks we’d seen driving on the roads that morning, Tio Pedro said, “Wow, there are a lot of trucks driving around in Costa Rica! Is it like this every day, and everywhere?” And I kid you not, less than ten seconds later, the GPS chimed, “You might have noticed a multitude of large trucks driving on these roads.” We all gasped--it was truly creepy. She went on to explain that there is an abundance of products that need to be imported to Costa Rica and driven across the country in trucks, but at that point we’d stopped listening to her, because we were focusing instead on being fully convinced that the GPS was a living, breathing entity that could hear what we were saying to each other…and perhaps even hear our private thoughts.

Adam attempted to test out the theory, leaning forward from the back seat and saying in an uncharacteristically theatrical, loud voice, carefully annunciating each of his syllables, “I. Wonder. Why. They. Paint. The. Trees. White.” I turned around to the back seat and looked at him like he was out of his mind, until he repeated, “I SAAAAID. TREES. WHITE,” and I understood what he was up to. Sadly, we were proven wrong, as his prompting did not illicit the phantom GPS voice to offer us any interesting factoids about the trees in Costa Rica. This was honestly OK with me, however, because our GPS’s seemingly endless knowledge didn’t take away from the fact that her infuriatingly upbeat voice has the power to make you wish for nothing more than to hang yourself from the nearest white-painted Costa Rican tree.

Oh, and I got to drive! It felt amazing after being deprived of the opportunity for a couple of months. The final hour of the drive to Nosara is incredibly bumpy and unkempt, so I basked in the glory of racing in our rented jeep through puddles that could more aptly be named small lakes and over little hills, imagining I was that actor who played Crocodile Dundee shooting one of those Subaru Outback commercials from the 90’s, driving around Australia like a madman. We eventually came to a part of the road that was completely and utterly flooded to the point that we had to do a river crossing that immediately reminded me of playing Oregon Trail in elementary school and having to make the extremely important choice between fording the river or making your oxen walk through it. Tio Pedro and Adam got out of the jeep and surveyed the situation, mapping out how to maneuver the jeep as much to the side of the Great Lake as was possible. Unfortunately for me, Tio Pedro did not allow me to operate the vehicle through this leg of the adventure. In the end, he put the pedal to the medal, Adam and I cheered him on, and we emerged unscathed!

So we made it through our journey to the Gilded Iguana without having gone too crazy (though I guess I should speak for myself here because there’s no telling how emotionally and mentally disturbed Tio Pedro and Adam had become after being stuck in the car with me and my chatter for such a long period of time). The poolside reunion with my girls and Dee at the Iguana was fantastic, and the two men in our lives became fast friends. We all went to the beach, then swam around in the pool until long after nightfall, and ended the evening with a group cena. I had fun seeing the employees at the Gilded Iguana, all of whom remembered Katie and I from our first stay. That night, Tio Pedro and Daniel hit the hay while us kids went over to the hostel/bar down the road where they have live music and a pool table. And here’s where something really exciting happened. I was inexplicably and miraculously amazing at pool-playing for about fifteen minutes! Standing in for Deanna as Adam’s partner against a group of local guys, I brought us back from behind and we ended with a victory. It was a strange phenomenon. I sunk about five balls in a row without stopping or thinking about it. I have to say, it was one of the proudest moments of my life, and I wished Flo could have been there to witness the occasion, and to respect me as a competitor. It’s fascinating how being good at pool makes you immediately more attractive to the opposite sex. All of a sudden, as I started to beat them, the five Ticos we were playing against began to look me up and down, and to ask me what my name was. Afterwards, one of them bought me a beer. This wasn’t too terribly exciting due to the fact that these particular guys were pretty sleazy, but I vowed nonetheless to forever remember this important life lesson, and to practice my billiard skills in the very near future.

After the game, the girls and Adam decided to go clubbing, while I stayed behind and hung out with Jordan, one of the guys who works at the Gilded Iguana. I didn’t feel like allowing the owner of the bar, an American in his 50’s with an obvious drinking problem, to drive us to a club, even though he insisted he was the official cab driver of the area and that we wouldn’t be able to acquire an actual cab. Something about it made me uneasy, plus I was tired and enjoying talking to Jordan. We chatted for a while, then walked back to the Iguana where I basked in the rarity of sleeping in an air-conditioned room.

The following day, everyone but Adam (who obviously woke up at the crack of dawn to surf all day long), went on a day trip to Samara, our favorite beach, which is only about a half hour drive from the Gilded Iguana. We had fun showing Tio Pedro and Dee around Samara, drinking smoothies and hanging out on the beach. When we got back to Nosara, we found a pleasant surprise in the form of Matt, our hermano, who was working on a turtle conservation project nearby, and had decided to come visit us for the day. Initially I was panicked because I returned to the Iguana to find my rented surfboard was missing, and ran around like a psychotic thinking it had been stolen, until Katie said, “You didn’t look on the bed, you idiot.” I then glanced down at the bed of Katie’s hotel room to find a note from Adam written on toilet paper that said: “Matt’s here! I lent him Chrissy’s surfboard. We’re down at the beach.” When I got to the beach I immediately ran to Matt and embraced him, then took my surfboard into the water and enjoyed another glorious Nosara sunset surf. The sunset at that beach is still the most stunning I’ve ever seen. The surfboard I’d rented that time was easier to stand up on because it was longer and lighter than the previous ones I’d practiced on, so it felt really good to bea able to stand up and ride almost every wave! We had a great time hanging out as a group on the terrace of the Iguana that night, drinking cocktails and eating cheese and crackers. Then we had another nice dinner and hit the hay a little earlier than usual.

On Sunday, Tio Pedro got a surf lesson from Adam as I lied in the sun with Beth. It was her last weekend and I was beginning to feel so sad that she was leaving us. Beth is one of my favorite people to chat up with. We finished the day laughing and carrying on in the pool together and then Tio Pedro, Adam and I bid Danielle and the girls ado to head back to San Jose. Adam wanted to go to his project the following day, I had class, and Tio Pedro was to embark on his solo motorcycle trip in the morning. Our ride back was as fun as the trip there, especially because Tio Pedro allowed ME to ford the river in our jeep. We also drove up a road Tio Pedro had discovered the night before, in pursuit of a sweet view, which we found off the terrace of an amazing hidden hotel on the top of a mountain. We pretended we were considering coming back to Nosara and staying in the hotel, and hung out for ten minutes taking in the beautiful sight. We laughed all the way back to San Jose, and occasionally Adam and I congratulated Tio Pedro on his amazing and death-defying driving stunts, such as passing eight cars in the other lane with a motorcycle coming at us. At one point some really serious cyclists managed to go as fast as our car, riding ferociously alongside us, almost passing us..

“Those people are charging the hills!” Adam said.
I laughed and said, “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means they’re really going for it,” Adam responded.
“On their bicicletas!” Tio Pedro chimed in.

For some inexplicable reason, I became very existential out of the blue as we drove past the beautiful beaches and the herds of cattle. Obviously, I started to verbalize this feeling, waxing philosophical about how there’s a part of me that would love to just drop everything and live here, for longer than four months, forgetting everything I want to do at home and just enjoying life in Costa Rica: going to the beach and making friends, working at a restaurant or a bar, feeling free. Tio Pedro assured me that though this may sound like an amazing plan in theory, I would never be fully happy if I didn’t return to New York to accomplish all of my life goals and to take advantage of all of the schooling and job opportunities I have in store for me. Adam agreed, but made a pact with me (REMEMBER ADAM?! A PACT. WE SHOOK ON IT.) that one day, no matter how many years down the line, we will both spend an entire year living in Costa Rica together, forgetting all of our responsibilities and troubles at home, and just taking a pause to live a relaxed Tico life. I will hold him to this.

So Mike had told me that he was having a little going away pizza party at his house down the street from me that Sunday night, as he was to fly home the following day. Originally I hadn’t known if I would be back in time for it, but Adam and I were really excited that we were heading home to San Jose and could help send Mike off. However, in true Mike fashion, this didn’t pan out. On the drive home I called Mike’s house and talked to Ivannia, my Tica aunt, who informed me that Mike had called to say that he would be staying for another week in Puerto Viejo. I don’t know why this surprised me. “Doesn’t he have a flight tomorrow?” I asked her in spanish. “I thought so, but I don’t know what happened!” she told me. “He was supposed to come home tonight for dinner, but he said he can’t, and that he’ll be home next Sunday!” I vowed to never, EVER, believe Mike again about his leaving to go home to Canada. I thought for a moment that perhaps Mike would turn out to be one of those people you hear about who goes to Costa Rica for a visit and never comes back. Though I was a bit annoyed, I smiled and thought how thrilled I was to know I’d be seeing him again in a short week’s time.